


twisting tangerine while the sakura dance

by d_fenestrate



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Kageyama Miwa - Freeform, Living Together, Third Year Hinata Shouyou, Third Year Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio, Third Year Kageyama Tobio, Timeskip, hinata natsu - Freeform, pandemic mention, pure fluff, this is so soft it's just them being in love in high school and post timeskip :D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27624413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_fenestrate/pseuds/d_fenestrate
Summary: It spirals.And this is okay. In the most unspoken ways, this is okay.Sakura petals dance in the wind as they gracefully descend to the ground. A few fall upon Hinata’s head, nestling itself between similarly floating and dancing strands. They stay there, performing a short duet before another person’s hand comes up to lightly pluck them away, only to then return to mindlessly toying with the rest of the tangerine hair, fingers thumbing together small braids.Just like a sakura petal, it spirals, but in the most elegant and beautiful manner possible.alt; their love manifests in a new form in their third year that then makes a comeback when they live together.alt, alt; kageyama learns that he loves playing with hinata's hair. hinata loves it, too.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 34
Kudos: 194





	twisting tangerine while the sakura dance

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi hi!!! 
> 
> k's back!!! with another kghn piece!!!!
> 
> this one particularly is incredibly self-indulgent. i kinda wrote it for my bday and had a lot of fun with it. it's one of those fics written to only cater to me but either way i hope you enjoy it :D
> 
> also, even though it's for me, i want to dedicate this fic to nae and mars for being the absolute best and literally kicking off my bday with the bestest presents ever. just them are enough, but i just laksjdklajsdlka wow i can't speak. if you read this, know that ily and i highly appreciate you 💖 
> 
> also, thanks to nae for beta-ing this 💖
> 
> alrighty, ENJOY!!! if you want music suggestions, i listened to a lot of keshi while writing this.

Miwa strolls into the dimly lit kitchen, yawning, her arms reaching up and above as she briefly stretches. Falling back into a neutral stance, she blinks against the ambient darkness, stepping forward to flip the extra light switch on. Bright, yellow-tinted light floods the room, causing her to wince slightly. The sight of piles of dirty dishes and pans cause her to wince more. Another blink and sigh later, she pushes her sleeves up and walks to the sink, waggling her fingers in the air as she tries to decide where to begin. 

She picks up a plate and the sponge. She turns on the faucet. And she begins. 

Miwa enjoys washing the dishes in silence. By the end of the night, Tobio’s already retired to his room and the house is silent, save for the sounds of running water, clinking dishes, and the occasional hums from Miwa. Through the window in front of the sink, the night silently shines through with streetlights, starlight, and moonlight. 

It’s peaceful. It’s calming. For Miwa, even if the amount of dishes is overbearing, the time alone is meditative, allowing her to transcend in a secure mental reality only she can access. 

Miwa shakes her head as she wipes away the soap on a pan under the steaming stream. There’s a hum between her lips, ready to jump out. 

It doesn’t. Miwa pauses. Her hands halt as she feels an extra presence in the room, the sensation of an extra pair of eyes on her back. 

She doesn’t grimace. Or shiver. There's discomfort, but it isn’t alarming. Miwa turns off the faucet and places the plate to the side, turning to raise her brows at her awaiting brother in the middle of the entrance of the kitchen. 

Tobio stands silently and patiently, watching intently as Miwa cocks her head in a questioning sense. He’s leaning against the doorframe with his left hand, which he brings up to scratch behind his head, a flush running up his cheeks when Miwa directs her attention to him. From where he’s standing, his figure is extremely shadowed, but Miwa catches the blush. When it comes to Tobio, she can always tell when he’s flustered. 

“Tobiooo…” she drags out the last syllable playfully. “What?” 

Tobio locks eyes with her and opens his mouth. Nothing comes out and he closes it in frustration, looking sideways once again. Miwa sighs, shaking her head with a soft chuckle. Knowing it might take time for him to form the right words, she points at the wet dishes on the countertop waiting to be dried. Following Miwa’s direction, Tobio is quick to stride across the kitchen and take place next to her, dish towel in his hands. 

Tobio starts to quietly wipe the dishes, his lips pursed thoughtfully, accompanied with furrowed brows and keen, wide eyes. Miwa chuckles again, resisting the urge to pinch her brother’s cheeks. Instead, she turns on the water again, this time with a lower flow so she can hear her brother once he’s ready to speak. 

“Take your time, Tobio,” she reasserts, working at the remaining dishes. “But still… what brings you here late at night?” 

Tobio, as expected, doesn’t answer immediately. A few dishes pass before he’s opening his mouth to speak again. Miwa listens intently. 

“Nee-san,” Tobio tries, slotting a plate in the rack. “How do you do your hair?” 

Miwa freezes, the soapy sponge halting against a fork in her hands. She turns in light bewilderment, wide eyes meeting a shy, darting pair. She studies the flush on her brother’s face and the way he fights the emotions bubbling instead with a frown and minor gritting of his teeth. 

Interesting. 

“Why?” Miwa asks, turning back slowly. The sponge doesn’t move against her fork. 

“No reason.” The reply is too fast. 

“Clearly there’s a reason,” Miwa retorts, being careful not to push too much with her tone. 

“No.” Another fast response. 

“Tobio.” 

“I told you,” He places the pan in his hands back on the countertop. “No.”

“ _Tobio_ ,” Miwa says. She turns back to face her brother, waiting for him to meet her eyes. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. If not, then that’s okay, too.”

Tobio grits his teeth again, face contorting as he struggles to speak. It must be something big, Miwa thinks, as she sees her brother struggle so much. 

“Hinata has long hair now.” 

Oh. 

_Oh._

Honestly, Miwa isn’t surprised. 

She turns to the sink again, hiding the smile growing on her face. “I’ll show you after we’re done here,” she replies before turning the faucet all the way. 

She rushes the dishes that night. 

  
  
  
🌸🌸🌸  
  
  
  


Hinata’s long hair is, by no means, a major issue. In fact, it’s not even an issue at all. Hinata had let it grow during break, returning with a shaggier head than usual and then proceeded to do nothing about it. The first stages were manageable, the hair flopping around just a little more than usual, not blocking his view or impeding actions. 

However, the hair continued to grow, as hair does, to a point where, now, the bangs drop completely in front of Hinata’s eyes, occasionally blocking his field of view as he dashes across the court, jumping and zooming. 

Again, _this is not an issue_. When it comes to hair, Hinata is well versed with its management. And this makes sense. He has Natsu as his younger sister, of course he knows how to handle long hair. He’d explained during one practice how there was a time where Natsu would come only to him to have her hair done, brightly describing the memories of a round toddler waddling after him, her wispy and wavy orange hair bouncing with each step she took. Yachi had giggled at the story, commenting on how Hinata now resembles this young caricature of Natsu as he plays on the court. The comment had caused the boy to fluster and blush and then laugh as he excitedly continued to talk about his younger sister. 

Hinata now walks around school and courts with rubber bands—of various colors—wrapped around his wrists. Hinata suddenly stops mid-step to put the volleyball in his hands between his legs, balancing it between his two knees while he uses his teeth to pull band off of his wrist, then grabbing his hair and pulling it back to wrap it into a low ponytail, reminiscent of how Asahi used to keep his hair back. Each time he does this, a few loose strands fall out, framing his bright, cheery face and his gleaming eyes that speak of nothing but challenge. 

Hinata has this under control. He has this handled. 

Kageyama, on the other hand, does not. His eyes follow Hinata, observing the hair as it gradually falls out, the band slipping down and down and loosening till it falls, releasing Hinata’s hair right after a powerful spike. His eyes follow as Hinata laughs or curses, teeth pulling at the nearest band to quickly wrap his hair back in the same, lopsided, lowly placed bun with speedy ease. Hinata has the motions mastered, performing them as he sprints back to his spot, or to where he’s needed next, never missing a beat. 

Hinata has this mastered. He has this down. 

Kageyama shouldn’t bother. He shouldn’t be bothered. 

Bother is the incorrect term. What the correct one is, Kageyama does not know. 

And so, he continues to stare, observe, and follow, sapphire endlessly trailing behind vibrant amber. 

  
  
  
🌸🌸🌸  
  
  
  


Hinata misses another serve. The ball hits the net and topples over on their side of the court. Kageyama watches as the blue and yellow sphere rolls and bounces off of the wooden floor once, twice, thrice… 

This is the second one Hinata has missed so far during this practice game. Kageyama hears a curse from behind, prompting him to turn with a leveled glare. Hinata, for once, isn’t already looking at him, expectant for the day’s variant of _You suck_. Instead, he has his head bent over as he plays with his hair, tying it up. Kageyama’s frown changes as he observes the furrows of frustrations contorting across Hinata’s face, shadows traveling along with it. 

Yachi must’ve noticed this as well as she calls for a quick break, running up to Hinata the moment the players on court disperse to get their water bottles. Kageyama doesn’t move, unable to steer his eyes away from the scene that he is silently observing. 

“Everything alright?” Yachi asks, crouching to meet Hinata’s eyes. Hinata smiles back in response. 

“Yeah,” he breathes back. Then he frowns, concentrated, as his fingers wrap the band around one last time. Dropping his arms, he looks back at Yachi. “It’s just one of those days where the hair doesn’t stay back, you know?” 

Yachi laughs with a nod. “Yeah, I know. Trying tightening it again with another band,” she suggests. Hinata nods, bringing his wrist up to grab another band. 

Kageyama squints, trying to get a look at the bun. No, he thinks. It’s not going to stay. It’s the same as the loose, low tie that continuously falls apart after some plays. 

An extra band won’t do anything, he thinks. 

Somewhere in the midst of his thoughts, he must’ve donned a glare because the moment Hinata locks eyes with him, his eyes darken, an eyebrow rising as he angrily pouts in Kageyama’s direction. 

“What, Kageyama?” He asks. Kageyama simply blinks in return before striding over. 

“It’s not going to stay,” he replies. 

“Huh?” 

“Your hair,” Kageyama explains, standing by Hinata’s side. He gets a better look, and sure enough, it’s the same bun. Squinting, Kageyama is certain he can see it already falling apart at some places. 

“It’s going to fall apart?” Hinata repeats. He cocks his head to the side in confusion. “How do you know?” 

Kageyama sighs and meets Hinata's gaze. “It’s one of those days, isn’t it?” 

Hinata blinks before his eyes widen just a smidgen. “Oh, yeah, but wh—”

“Turn around.” 

“Huh?” 

“Turn around, dumbass,” the words are spoken softly, almost as a request, contradicting the commanding syntax. 

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” Hinata says plainly. “My answer’s still ‘huh?’”

Rolling his eyes, Kageyama reaches forward and holds onto both of Hinata’s shoulders, pushing and pulling at opposite ends to gently coerce Hinata’s figure away from him. Hinata, still perplexed, follows the motions, easily turning around so his back is facing Kageyama. 

Kageyama’s first course of action is undoing the messy knot. It’s when his fingers come in contact with Hinata’s hair that he becomes hyper aware of how his heart is thumping, stomach is fluttering, and head is floating, everyone around him and Hinata a blur as everything within him fixates on the orange strands in front of him and Hinata. 

The knot comes undone instantly. Kageyama catches the band swiftly, slipping three fingers within the loop and spreading them out. Then, with both his hands, he carefully threads the tips of fingertips through Hinata’s scalp to gently comb the hair back in an even fashion, pulling the collected locks up and higher than Hinata typically does. Then, ever so nimbly and ever so meticulously, he twists the hair, bringing the band over the hair and pulling the hair under, just like his sister had shown him that one night after doing the dishes. 

Hinata remains surprisingly silent throughout the entire situation, the only movement being his right foot tapping, a tell of his when he’s nervous but trying to hide it. 

For his own sake and Hinata’s, Kageyama ignores it, his own insides tapping and fluttering and shaking with each movement he makes. 

The mini ponytail rests comfortably on the top of Hinata’s head. However, it sags just a bit, gravity pulling it down. Kageyama frowns. 

“Gimme another band,” he says, hushed, hands hovering around Hinata’s head. The other complies immediately, ripping off one of his extras from his wrist to hand over to Kageyama. 

Kageyama is quick to secure the hair with the extra band, lightly separating and pulling the ponytail apart to push the bands back. Left alone, the hair stays up, perched atop Hinata’s head securely with clean lines leading up to it. 

“Are you done?” Hinata asks. 

“Yeah.” Immediately, the shorter spins on his heel face Kageyama, head tilting up as he meets the blue eyes widening at the sudden proximity. The distance between them is so minimal they’re able to faintly feel each other’s light, warm breaths against each other’s faces. 

Kageyama’s eyes travel to the few pieces of short hair that barely make it to the ponytail. Once again, he reaches out and touches Hinata’s hair, a single finger curling around the side strands and pulling them out, readjusting and moving them to naturally frame Hinata’s face. Hinata simply stares at him as he does so, eyes wide, body unmoving, and hair ever so pliant. 

“Kageya—”

“Don’t miss another serve,” Kageyama mutters, dropping the last strand in place. He is then quick to turn and walk away, ignoring the feel of Hinata’s stare on his back as he retreats the scene. 

He doesn’t look back once, face flushing beet red. (It’s the heat, he tells Yachi.)

In the next rotation, Hinata serves, bumps, and scores all in one play. 

And his hair stays up the entire time.

  
  
  
🌸🌸🌸  
  
  


Phantom-like images flash in his head, unannounced. Phantom-like sensations linger at the ends of his fingertips. Phantom-like movements rest at the precipice of action, almost teetering over the edge, causing minor twitches as Kageyama’s hands remember the feel of a warm scalp, soft, mangled hair, and Hinata all in one. 

Kageyama huffs and shoves his hand in his pocket, the other clutching onto his milk box tightly. 

He walks away from the vending machine and towards the classroom, restricting a look into Hinata’s class where the boy is laughing cheerfully and talking along with a few of his classmates. 

Kageyama walks away, thoughts resting upon the blur of orange that had just momentarily crossed his peripheral view. 

  
  
  
🌸🌸🌸  
  
  


Hinata’s head rests within his folded arms, his hair fanning out messily as the boy breathes softly into the desk top underneath, deep in sleep. It’s lunch time, and he and Kageyama are crashing Yachi’s classroom yet again, cramming for upcoming exams just before a Tokyo practice weekend. 

Yachi has disappeared momentarily to aid her professor in a task. She left behind her notes, open to the pages with the vocabulary and examples pertaining to one of their exams. 

Kageyama carefully copies down the notes, tweaking some words and formatting to better fit his own learning. He makes his way through a few words in the list when Hinata’s soft breaths stutter, the boy turning his head slightly to the side. Not a moment later, he starts to snore lightly, only loud enough for Kageyama to hear him, and no one else. 

Kageyama ignores the sound easily, moving onto the next word. He stares at the characters on Yachi’s page, his pen shaking as it remains held millimeters away from the surface of his own notebook. 

Hinata keeps snoring. 

Feelings and emotions ghost over his hands, willing them elsewhere. His hand goes slack. The pen in his hands falls weakly against the paper underneath. 

Carefully, cautiously, Kageyama turns to look at Hinata, brows upturned as he considers his next course of actions. 

All he feels is orange. 

Light, feather-like touches end up meddling with wispy, fluffy hair, twisting and turning, combing and tying, each and every movement mindless and soothing. Hinata visibly relaxes more, wearing a hint of—dare Kageyama say—a smile on his lips. Kageyama’s the same, shoulders low, muscles void of tension, face serene and pleased as he fondly smiles at each small braid he hides within Hinata’s hair. 

Lunch passes by quickly. Yachi returns, quiet as she approaches the scene, eyes ever observant of the pair she considers to be “not quite friends, but something more.” When she takes her seat once again, Kageyama is quick to retract and fluster, sputtering over unprepared excuses and explanations. She calms the situation with a nonchalant reference to the vocabulary list, redirecting the situation to the subject matter they’d been studying before. 

Hinata wakes up to his hair poking in every direction possible, his mane fanning out unevenly with the differently sized twists and braids. He doesn’t notice it at first as he yawns and rubs his eyes, commenting on how he had just had the best nap he’s had in awhile. 

Yachi doesn’t say anything. Neither does Kageyama. Hinata pays the silence no mind as his hands card his locks, freezing at the resistance he meets just near his roots. He paws at the rest of his head, feeling for the twists and braids. 

Hands dropping to pick up his pen, Hinata doesn’t say anything else either. He really doesn’t have to. The red flush spreading from his neck to his cheeks to his temples speaks loudly enough. 

As do the rosey tones across Kageyama’s face. 

  
  
  
🌸🌸🌸  
  
  


It spirals. 

Somewhere, somehow, between the scene on the court and the scene in the lunchroom, it all spirals, leading to regular occurrences where Kageyama’s hands tenderly and meticulously intertwine within Hinata’s overgrown hair, the actions completely thoughtless for either boy. 

It spirals. 

Braids and twists are now accompanied by sparkly clips stolen from Natsu and Miwa. High ponytails are now interchanged with half up, half down styles and hairbands that wrap around his forehead, pulling back to the base of his neck, a piece of stretchy cloth that’s constantly adjusted by either Hinata or Kageyama. 

It spirals. 

And this is okay. In the most unspoken ways, this is okay. 

Sakura petals dance in the wind as they gracefully descend to the ground. A few fall upon Hinata’s head, nestling itself between similarly floating and dancing strands. They stay there, performing a short duet before another person’s hand comes up to lightly pluck them away, only to then return to mindlessly toying with the rest of the tangerine hair, fingers thumbing together small braids. 

Just like a sakura petal, it spirals, but in the most elegant and beautiful manner possible. 

Hinata doesn’t mind, relishing in the comfort the touches bring him, heat washing down his body, enveloping him in a blanket of Kageyama’s attention, providing him a warmth he’d never want to push away. 

This is okay. 

Hinata wants it to stay. 

  
  
  
🌸🌸🌸  
  
  


Sneakers squeak against the gymnasium floor. A hit booms throughout the empty expanse. A step vibrates across the floor, the sound of rubber hitting skin following right after. A grunt and tumble fill the silence space before the ball makes its final bounce on the ground, teetering and rolling away. 

What is left after is a tunneling silence. 

“See ya later, Kageyama!” A laugh bubbles. 

“Yeah,” a smile replies. “See you later.” 

  
  
  
🌸🌸🌸  
  
  


“And hurry up and cut your hair. You look like a bush.” 

“I was just gonna do that, okay?! Geez.” 

  
  
  
🌸🌸🌸  
  


The year 2020 brings an avalanche of changes and fears upon the world. It is suffocating, implicating fatality at each and every turn. 

Nothing is spared. 

The Summer Olympics in Tokyo, Japan are postponed. For a brief time period, all in-person activities are put on hold. As a result, all national team activities are put on pause, each member required to practice and train in isolation instead. 

It is difficult. But not impossible. Social distancing and isolation brings Kageyama Tobio and Hinata Shouyou back to their joint apartment, giving them all the time in the world to spend in each other’s presence—a wicked blessing that comes in the form of a curse for the collective. 

Quarantine elongates. As does time. 

As does hair—Shouyou’s hair, to be specific. Time brings the clementine colored locks to a length reminiscent of the end of their high school days, a time where their love was more hushed, more unspoken, yet just as deeply understood. 

Shouyou strolls into the room, wearing an oversized hoodie and a pair of short shorts he had worn from his beach volleyball days. Tobio is seated on the couch, a cup of tea nestled within his hands and an old olympics volleyball match playing on the television. One of his volleyball journals is open by his side, particularly at a page with old notes of the team playing on the TV. 

Shouyou hums, reaching forward to grab the cup from Tobio’s hands. He grasps it with hands that are slightly covered by his sweatshirt sleeves, the heat of the mug warming his palms comfortably. Shoyo giggles at Tobio’s microcosmic glare, blowing at the top of the beverage once Tobio’s focus instantly falls back to the TV, gears turning wildly in his head. 

Tobio pays no attention to the other in front of him, moving around instinctively as Shouyou makes room for himself near Tobio. The latter does, however, quirk a brow when he sees Shouyou opting to sit on the floor, burrowed between his legs, back resting against the couch. The brow falls down easily as the sounds of the game call for his attention again. 

The two remain as so, silent and attentive as their trained eyes dart across the TV, easily absorbing the game and everything beyond the plays and players present. At some point, Shouyou rests his cheek on Tobio’s leg, sighing into the position. Tobio feels the other’s body fall completely lax, muscles twitching and descending from the overlay of comfort. 

Tobio is highly invested in the match on screen, eyes following the movement of each player as his brain works to connect the clues and map out the plays and patterns. He is not taking notes, more or less applying the ones he already has, as well as the ones Atsumu texted that morning. Fixated, he pays no mind to how his body moves. 

Shouyou shuffles a little, humming contently. Tobio pays it no mind. 

Phantom-like sensations electrify the ends of his fingertips. Tobio pays it no mind. 

Phantom-like movements drive twitches and turns and ties and thumbs against a warm scalp and its soft, luscious hair. Tobio pays it no m—

He freezes, fingers caught in soft, tangled tangerine hair, slightly tugging. What the—

Shouyou chuckles. “I was wondering when you’d do that.” Tobio frowns. Soon enough, upon seeing Shouyou’s position, the realization hits. 

“You little shit,” he mutters under his breath, pushing forcefully but not painfully against Shouyou’s scalp. The other sighs, nestling more into Tobio’s thighs. The raven haired man frowns even more, lips pushing out to the side. Any action he takes with Hinata’s hair will bring the other a pleasureful comfort. He knows this. 

And so, knowingly, he doesn’t let go. 

“Are you thinking of Atsumu-san’s notes?” Shouyou mumbles, eyes fluttering shut as Tobio hesitantly works his hands through the hair, trying to gain a conscious feel for it. It’s familiar, oh so familiar, drawing upon a strange nostalgia deep within. 

Tobio hums in response, eyes not leaving Shouyou and the way he relaxes, clearly enjoying what Tobio is doing to him. “Yeah, I think I missed some things.” 

“Heh,” Shouyou snorts softly. “Dumbass.” 

“Shut up,” Tobio says, biteless. His other hand itches to reach forward as well, but with Shouyou’s cheek against his leg, it’d be hard to maneuver around. He decidedly keeps it in his lap, instead. 

A few moments pass. Shouyou moves up suddenly, a yawn cracking through his form. He places the mug on the coffee table in front, immediately launching into an extravagant stretch, his spine elongating and freezing before collapsing again. This time, Shouyou falls back completely, his head hitting against Tobio’s abdomen gently. 

He tilts his head up, his bangs falling to the side. And then, Shouyou throws up a goofy grin, his eyes wide and bright, sparkling in playful mischief. 

“Heyyy~~,” he says, chuckling after. Tobio’s ears heat up as he frowns weakly back at his boyfriend in his lap. 

“Hi,” he mutters, bringing a palm to push against Shoyo’s head. The other laughs, following the push as he leans forward, shuffling to readjust in between Tobio’s legs. Back more erect, Shouyou directs his focus back to the TV, remote in his hand as he rewinds back to the spot they were just at. 

There is a hint of a smile on Tobio’s lips as settles back into the couch, eyes traveling upward to see the pause button turn to ‘play’ as the match resumes. Both of his hands twitch and wander thoughtlessly, returning back to the tuft of hair and entangling nimble fingers in long, overgrown locks. 

Here they are, back to scenes where serves were missed, where exams were failed, and where sakura would tauntingly dance, falling as they hoped for the moments to never end. 

Here they are, back to a comfort, an understanding. It is almost like déjà vu. Almost. 

But not quite, for, here they are, enveloped in each other’s blanketing love and affection, surrounded in a warmth that will now _never_ wash away. Never. 

“Shou, band,” Tobio mumbles, hands holding onto the base of a ponytail. 

Wordlessly, not removing his eyes from the television, Shouyou lifts his arm and shoves his wrist in Tobio’s face, nearly knocking him on the nose. Tobio narrowly dodges the arm, grabbing onto his partner’s forearm to still the momentum. He removes his other hand to pluck a few hair ties off of Shouyou’s arm, not missing the way Shouyou instantly shivers at the loss of contact. Within the fewest moments, Tobio has his hands back in the other’s hair, wrapping around the strands, returning that heat brought upon by the contact of his fingers against the other’s head. 

Shouyou sighs blissfully. 

Here they are with a _promise_. 

By the end of the match, Shouyou has numerous braids in his hair with a makeshift sprout resting at the crown of his head. Tobio stops him from toying and messing with the masterpiece, bringing a hand to cup the bottom of the Shouyou’s chin. Tobio pushes up to gently tilt Shouyou’s face back up to look at him through wide, sparkling eyes again, this time a little blush flushing across the apples of Shouyou’s cheek. Phone ready in his other hand, Tobio takes a quick snapshot, laughing at Shouyou’s instant embarrassment and shrieks as he tries to grab for the phone. Kageyama manages to narrowly escape his boyfriend’s wrath as he jumps off of the couch and runs away from the living room, his entire frame shaking in laughter. 

The picture is never deleted. Not from Tobio’s mind, and not from Tobio’s phone. It is immediately sent to Natsu, partly for safety’s sake and partly to fuel her clowning of her own brother. It also immediately becomes Tobio’s new home screen, the image hidden by his lock screen with a background image of the two playfully fighting in the middle of taking a selfie. 

_This_ , Tobio knows…

_This_ , Shouyou knows…

_This_ is here to stay. 

_They_ are here to stay, with each other, endlessly, beyond the termination of time, their sakura destined to dance forever and ever. 

  
  
  
🌸🌸🌸  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed that!!! i had a lot of fun writing this.   
> here are some links!!  
> come visit me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/d_fenestrate) & [tumblr](http://de-sociate.tumblr.com)!  
> visit nae on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ohmiyamy), she's a fantastic writer!  
> visit mars on [twitter](https://twitter.com/koushinsuke_), she's a fantastic artist and is such a joy 💖!


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